


Run, Run, Lost Boy

by Sage (the_ruined_earth_sagelord)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Humor, M/M, Pining, QPP Kenma and kuroo is lyfe okay, Queerplatonic Relationships, Running, Slow Build, adding new tags here goes, and daichi is the hot af personal trainer in the same apartment building, and figure out how GAY they are for each other, courtesy of kuroo obviously, had to change that rating to mature uh oh lmao, i want to keep this going a bit before they have The Talk, it gets bad but don't worry daichi beats them up and we never see them again, kenma showed up yayyy, kinda??, kurodai - Freeform, kuroo got it baddd lmaoo, maybe???, no angst yet but there might be in the future so i'll tag it for now, personal trainer!daichi, probably add more characters later, professor!kuroo, science and memes, this is kinda a college au except kuroo is the teacher, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6778093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ruined_earth_sagelord/pseuds/Sage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fine, Captain Thunder Thighs, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”</p><p>     “Hey, don’t you make fun of my thighs! You know you’d kill to have my thighs.”</p><p>     —wrapped around my fucking face, Kuroo wants to add, but good phone etiquette and the manners his mother taught him as a child seem enough to hold him back.</p><p> </p><p>~or~</p><p>A KuroDai au where Kuroo is a professor, Daichi is a personal trainer, and they live in the same apartment across from a park where they go running, discuss the finer points of memes, and unlearn what they'd always been taught about love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. morning runs

**Author's Note:**

> That summary is really gay omg
> 
> based off [this tumblr prompt](http://hajime-oikawa.tumblr.com/post/143800529292/please-consider-this-kurodai-au-kuroo-is-a) by hajime-oikawa
> 
> This is really short and it's my first time writing kurodai but I hope to continue it if it gets good feedback?? Maybe only a couple more chapters though, because we all know how I am with multichapter fics ;))))
> 
> anyway, here we go

 

 

 

“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

Kuroo looks up, and he’s already grinning, pushing his hair back from his face. He jumps up from the bench, reaching out to slap Daichi on the shoulder. Daichi yelps, almost dropping the two cups of coffee in his hand. “Easy,” he grunts, but he smiles under the scarf around his neck. He hands a cup to Kuroo and they drink together, savoring the warmth and the caffeine as it courses through their cold, stiff bodies. It’s too early in the morning, too windy of a day, too frozen in the middle of winter. But they stand close, and cradle their coffee in their mittens as they wait for their bodies to wake up, to remember what it means to move again. Their voices are the only ones in the lonely morning, the park a deserted land not yet ready for the traffic of the average passerby. The two of them talk in low voices, hushed in awe of the enormous silence that hangs over the park like a veil of glass, ready to break with the first explosion of birdsong or ray of light from the rising sun.

Eventually, Daichi drains his coffee in one final gulp, sighing contentedly. He tosses it into the small waste bin beside the bench, blows into his hands to warm them up, then smacks Kuroo across the back, making the other man cough and splutter and curse as dark coffee spills over his running shoes. Daichi’s laughter booms through the empty park as he takes off along the running path, only pretending to be afraid as Kuroo chases after, waving his empty cup and hollering for Daichi to buy him new shoes.

 

***

It’s been three months since they met. Kuroo knows that next Saturday will have been three months exactly, not that it matters, and not that he’s counting, but he knows that’s the date. It was pretty easy convincing Daichi to become his running partner (the man was a personal trainer after all; fitness was his life), but the quick friendship that had sparked between them as well was something Kuroo had never expected nor intended, but was grateful for nevertheless. Being a professor at the local university meant his hours and workload didn’t exactly leave a lot of time for socializing, unless it was at ungodly hours of the morning when he got his run in, or during the single hour he got for lunch before it was back to teaching chemistry to students who didn’t care or didn’t need it for their major and wanted the semester to crawl its way by only a little faster than Kuroo himself did.

So when he’d noticed another figure crazy enough to be running out in the mist before dawn was even a concept yet, he’d felt an instant kinship with this stranger. But it wasn’t until he saw the same lonely shadow five days in a row, always at least a couple hundred yards ahead of him, that he decided it was time to introduce himself. They were the only two runners there in the parkafter all, they could at least run together. He matched the stranger’s pace, jogged up to him, ran with him in an easy silence, and then proceeded to introduce himself by slipping on a patch of ice and careening headlong into the other man, bringing them both crashing to the ground in a fumble of limbs and curses and many, many apologies.

They’d gone running together every morning since.

 

***

Kuroo’s phone buzzes in his pocket in the middle of his lecture on advanced biology and the structure of organic cells. He’d just made a very clever joke about mitochondria being the powerhouses of cells. (His class had groaned at him.) He holds up one hand apologetically as he checks the screen, seeing a message from Daichi. He rolls his eyes, turning the phone to silent before slipping it back into his pocket and looking back up to the class. All five of them. Not many people had been interested in taking advanced biology, but Kuroo had pushed the school’s administrative board to keep the class this semester for the students who needed it, many of whom Kuroo had had in classes before and had formed good relationships with. He was invested in their academic careers, and he hated to think their futures might suffer just because of a low turnout for a class about science and memes. (The memes were mainly provided by Kuroo, who was convinced they were a great way of “reaching” his students.)

He hears a polite cough, and he glances up over his glasses. “Something wrong, Hinata?”

The boy fidgets, and he looks curious. “Was that your girlfriend, Professor?”

Kuroo frowns. “My…what?”

_Oh. He means the text._

He smiles. “No, Hinata, that was not my girlfriend. I don’t have one. Did you figure out the answer for my question about nucleic acids yet?”

“No, sir.” Hinata pauses. “Was it your boyfriend, then?”

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “My god, Hinata, if you were this persistent in the lab with your samples, you wouldn’t need my recommendation for the American program at all, would you?”

The other students snicker, and Hinata turns bright red, his face matching his hair. Kuroo turns back to the board triumphantly, and only half-pretends not to hear Hinata mutter to the student next to him: “He didn’t say no.”

 

***

“Grocery shopping? Again? Tsk, tsk, Daichi, you go through more food then half my students, and they’re all starving uni kids.”

“ _Listen, you can either make fun of me—again—or come with me and get free ramen cups out of it. Because I know you eat just as much of that shit as those starving uni students of yours._ ”

Kuroo grins into the mouthpiece of his phone, slipping his jacket on. He tucks some papers into his suitcase. “Alright fine, meet you by the usual spot?”

“ _If you mean the sidewalk outside our apartment, yeah, that’s where I’ll be, idiot_.”

Kuroo pulls his beanie over his unkempt hair. He can hear the grin in Daichi’s voice over the phone. “Fine, Captain Thunder Thighs, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“ _Hey, don’t you make fun of my thighs! You know you’d kill to have my thighs_.”

— _wrapped around my fucking face_ , Kuroo wants to add, but good phone etiquette and the manners his mother taught him as a child seem enough to hold him back.

They hang up after getting a few more jabs in at each other, and Kuroo is already leaving the school, heading for the subway station. Luckily, he lives pretty close to the university, but Tokyo is still a big city. He definitely couldn’t get there in time, even if he jogs.

It’s not until he boards the trains and sits down, earbuds in to block out the world for the eight-and-a-half-minute trip home to Dai—to his apartment, that Hinata’s words muttered under his breath in the middle of class seem to smack Kuroo full force and leave him staring at the opposite wall of the car, rocking gently back and forth as the train sways through the underground, humming along the tracks.

_He didn’t say no_.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bows*
> 
> legendarysagehalfblood.tumblr.com
> 
> I walked some old people up a mountain the other day and one of them told me they liked my hair?? #blessed


	2. that's the power of Pine-Sol, baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some grocery shopping, some cooking, and Kenma helps Kuroo realize how gay he really is.
> 
> Also, Daichi is a badass and don't ever get on his bad side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice longer chapter now that I've actually started working on this. Some pretty nasty homophobia in this chapter. Idk what happened, but this au has come alive on its own and it wants to make these boys suffer. So suffer they shall.
> 
> Also, let's see if we can get a running tally of how many nicknames these two come up with for each other by the time it's finished.

 

 

 

Grocery shopping is a bore.

Kuroo always says this, but he never misses a chance to go with Daichi because Daichi knowsKuroo is only a temporary professor, which affects his salary in Japanese universities, so Daichi usually ends up paying for Kuroo, too, with Kuroo always promising to pay him back, and Daichi telling him “Don’t mind, don’t mind,” with the kindest smile Kuroo has ever seen, and Kuroo can hear his heart singing like a madman in his ribcage.

So Kuroo hops along and doesn’t complain, smiling to himself as he disembarks from his train and heads to the street level to meet Daichi.

Daichi stands outside their apartment building, leaning on the wall just to the side of the front door, and he taps his foot in rhythm to whatever he’s listening to on the iPod clutched in his hand. His eyes are closed, and Kuroo grins sneakily to himself, deciding to surprise his friend with a sneak-attack. He crouches behind one of the city’s newly planted trees to “spruce up the community and encourage an appreciation with nature,” or whatever new bullshit Tokyo officials were trying to sell as an excuse to create more empty jobs for people. Kuroo catches his breath behind the tree, peering around it at Daichi. He leans against the bark and glances up at the apartment building, staring at it for a few moments.

He’d been lucky. Tokyo’s economy isn’t doing too well recently, and Japan in general is on the brink of (another) recession. It makes Kuroo want to punch his television every time some new random government official comes onto the news and reassures people of Japan’s strength and resilience. He wants to drag them down to his little apartment and show them just how strong he could be, living from paycheck to paycheck because no university is willing to hire permanent professors with another economic breakdown looming over their heads. He has coffee with the business and economics professors sometimes, and they always talk bitterly about how Japan will fall to ruin if someone in the government doesn’t make some changes. Meanwhile they’re stuck in jobs with nowhere to go simply because they were born too late and got into their positions just in time for their country to suffer collapse after economic collapse.

Kuroo sighs. He’s lucky to have this apartment, lucky to at least be working. He should count his blessings, but he knows what it’s like to live by the skin of his teeth, to struggle through each week wondering if he’ll still have water to drink the next month or if he’ll have electricity to keep him warm at night, and it’s made him bitter towards counting any blessings. The universe was never there to help him; he got out by himself. He knows what it’s like to sleep on the floor because a bed was a luxury he couldn’t afford yet when all his money was going straight to his water bills. He knows what the stinging chill of a long winter night feels like as it crawls up the spine and settles in the base of the skull. He remembers barely having enough food to last two or three weeks, let alone the rest of the month.

No blessings helped him out of those times. He got himself out.

He’s lucky, and he doesn’t ever want to go back there.

Kuroo shakes his head, sighing inwardly again. He turns his gaze back to Daichi, ready to jump out from behind the tree and—

_Where did he go?_

Kuroo stands abruptly, suddenly hyper-aware. He looks around, sudden horror dawning on him as he realizes the terrible truth.

The hunter has become the hunted.

As if reading his thoughts, at that exact moment a huge _something_ barrels into him from behind and picks him up with a roar, swinging him around. Kuroo hollers and screams for his life, clinging to the thick arms like iron girders that crunch around his waist and spin him until he’s dizzy.

Then Kuroo comes to a lurching stop, and he’s plopped unceremoniously back onto the sidewalk. A hand slams down on his head and ruffles his already messy hair, and Kuroo looks up from under the hand to see Daichi beaming at him.

“Thought you could sneak up on me, huh, you little shit?” Daichi rubs Kuroo’s head even harder, scuffing his knuckles into Kuroo’s scalp.

Kuroo has to bite his tongue and pretend he’s not enjoying the feeling of being petted, and he huffs indifferently. “I happen to be stealthier than most cats,” he says with an air of annoyance, though of course he and Daichi both know how happy they are to see each other.

“Ready to go, Mr. Pussy-Cat?” Daichi asks, smirking. He pulls his scarf tighter around his throat and takes his headphones off, hanging them around his neck.

“Wow, stopping your music for me?” Kuroo nudges Daichi with his elbow. “I’m honored, Elephant-Ears.”

Daichi covers his ears with his hands as the two of them turn and head down the sidewalk, bumping into each other’s sides and laughing. “They’re not that big, dipshit,” Daichi grumbles, rubbing his ears.

“Sure they’re not,” Kuroo says. “And I won’t tell anyone you wear those huge-ass headphones to cover them either.” He smirks, and he laughs from the bottom of his stomach when Daichi smacks him on the arm, grinning just as broadly.

They continue down the street, chatting about each of their days, how classes went for Kuroo, how Daichi’s clients were. The wind bites at them, but they ignore it, blowing clouds of dragon breath at each other and chasing pigeons through puddles of slush. Then Kuroo slips on a patch of ice and crashes into a trash can. They go a little slower after that, but Daichi can’t help cracking up every few minutes, his eyes watering, Kuroo grumbling under his breath.

At the grocery store, Kuroo insists they use one of the carts that has a car on the front so he can ride in it, and Daichi has to pull him away from arguing with a three-year-old over the last car-cart, telling him that no twenty-four year old professor of boring sciences would fit in the cart anyway. Kuroo snaps back that advanced biology is more interesting than physical therapy. Daichi reminds him that physical therapy _is_ biology, and they agree to carry two shopping baskets instead.

They’re in the canned food aisle when it happens first.

Daichi picks up a can of beets, saying something about dinner for tonight. Kuroo is only half listening, watching the couple at the other end of the aisle, their eyes narrowed at the two men looking at canned beets. The woman whispers in the ear of her boyfriend, or husband, or whoever the Obviously Heterosexual Man is, and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head, and they leave the aisle.

Kuroo stiffens, his breath suddenly cold in his chest.

“Kuroo… Kuroo? Kuroo-kun. _Kuroo-san!_ ”

His head snaps up. “Huh?” He looks at Daichi, who’s staring at him with concern etched across his face. “What?”

Daichi arches one brow. “Nothing. You were gone for a second there. Don’t leave me all alone with the mushrooms, okay?” He points to a can of mushrooms on the shelf and chuckles.

Kuroo nods absentmindedly. “Right, sorry. Very funny by the way. Mushrooms. Real kicker.”

Daichi stares him. “You lie,” he says, sounding offended. “It was horrible and you know it.”

“Yeah, it was,” Kuroo says. “Let’s get outta this aisle, we’ve got all the canned beets we can eat. I need some celery, and you need fish for that dinner you’re having this weekend.”

Daichi frowns. “What dinner?”

Kuroo rolls his eyes, pulling Daichi along behind him. “The employee dinner you freaked out on me three nights ago about having because your boss is a tight-ass and needs everything perfect? Or you’re fired? That dinner?”

“Shit,” Daichi hisses. “That’s this weekend already? _Fuck_.”

“You can do that once you get this dinner out of the way,” Kuroo says patiently, earning him a dry look from Daichi. Kuroo grins. “Oh, come on. You set yourself up for that one. Now, let’s get you some shrimp and sushi!” He marches out of the aisle and towards the seafood, Daichi close behind, shaking his head.

“I’d prefer something fresher from the markets than processed fish from the grocery store, Kuroo,” Daichi complains, but Kuroo waves his hand dismissively.

“Processed foodstuffs are the greatest invention of our time, Sawamura-san,” Kuroo says sagely, nodding his head with reverence. “The ability to keep food for days, weeks, is a power we must accept with great thanks to, uh, whichever god is in charge of packing materials.”

“You’re full of shit, I hope you know that,” Daichi grumbles, but he’s smiling, and Kuroo laughs.

He freezes when he sees two older men staring him down, glaring at him across the store from the produce section, their faces twisted in contempt.

“Come on,” he says, steering Daichi in the other direction, away from the vegetables. “Let’s get your fish.”

Daichi looks over his shoulder. “Wait, what about your celery?”

“I’ll get it tomorrow or something,” Kuroo says. “Don’t worry, we need to focus on your big, important dinner. You’ve got a boss to impress.”

Daichi shrugs. “If you say so. Come on, I want to get tuna.”

“ _Gross_.”

 

***

_They waited on a corner near the grocery store, lighting up cigarettes and puffing black clouds into the sinking air, watching people come and go from the store as evening descended over Tokyo. When they saw the ruffly-haired man in the beanie and the big guy with the headphones leave, bags in hands and laughing with each other, they quickly put out their cigarettes, throwing them to the ground and stamping them out. Their faces were carved, dark scowls, and they glared at the two younger men coming out of the store. They glanced at each other, nodded, and began to follow._

_The two older men trailed the two from the grocery store all the way down the street until they arrived at a subway entrance. They disappeared underground. The two men, each lighting new cigarettes and taking long drags, peered around the corner of the alley they’d tucked themselves into, saw no one else coming, and darted towards the subway entrance._

_They creeped up to the stairs, moving as quietly as possible, approached the first step, and looked down._

_From the bottom of the subway entrance, the headphones guys stared up at them_

_“Shit!” one of them cried, and he backpedaled, stumbling away from the steps. The guy below them flew up the stairs, hands like claws, eyes empty and black, reaching the top of the steps before they'd even turned around. He grabbed the closest one, hurling him to the ground and stomping his fingers under his boot. The man screamed, his cigarette flying from his mouth. The other man came at him from the side, but the headphones guy was already ducking under the older man’s slower punch, his own fist coming up to knock into the man’s jaw like a brick. The older guy went down hard, screaming as loudly as his partner._

_Daichi knelt next to the man whose fingers he’d crushed under his boot. He grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him clear off the ground, dragging him towards the wall of a building and slamming him into the concrete._

_“I saw you in the grocery store, creep,” Daichi said, his voice icy. “If you don’t stop following us, I will break your arm. And I’ll blind your friend with his own cigarette.” He pushed the man’s face further into the concrete, scratching his cheeks and nose against the grainy stone. “Do you understand?”_

_“Y-yes,” the man gasped. “Please… please…”_

_Daichi shoved him to the sidewalk, staring down at him with those horrible, empty eyes, devoid of light, black holes of pure rage directed at this lowlife on the ground. He wrinkled his nose at them and turned to leave._

_“He’s a fag, you know,” a voice groaned._

_Daichi froze, his eyes widening._

_The man he’d punched in the jaw sat up, holding his face. His eyes screamed murder at Daichi’s back. “My younger cousin goes to the university that queer teaches at. Everyone knows. He’s a disgusting perv trying—”_

_“Stop it,” Daichi said quietly._

_“I figured you should know,” the man hissed. “That guy’ll probably make a move on you, sooner or later.”_

_“I said stop,” Daichi whispered, turning around slowly to face the man._

_“He’s a fucking faggot,” the man growled, getting to his feet. “You can’t trust them around our kids in school, and you definitely—hhngg!”_

_Daichi’s foot landed squarely in the man’s gut, sending him hurtling backwards. Daichi was on him instantly, his hand coming down like an axe to the man’s neck, and the guy dropped. Daichi straightened, turning to the other man, letting the one in his hands slip from his fingers, dropping him to the ground with the sickening thud of bone and skin slapping hard on pavement. The other guy’s jaw dropped, and he backed away, whimpering, pleading breathlessly with Daichi, crawling backwards, desperate to get away. Daichi advanced on him, his shoulders bunched, a dark shadow flung across his face, his mouth a line cut in granite of black rock ready to roll over the man cringing on the ground and crush him utterly._

_“Is it true?” the granite mouth asked. Daichi stared down at the man, eyes wide, the whites flashing like a mad dog. “Is what he said about Kuroo true?”_

_The man on the ground sobbed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Please,” he begged. “Please, please don’t hurt me! I—I’ve got a family!”_

_Daichi’s eyes blazed, and his lips curled. “So does he, you fucking idiot!” he roared, and his fist came down like a bolt of lightning, crashing through the atmosphere to burn the skin off the man’s face, screaming at him with hurricane winds and the heat of a thousand suns._

_Daichi slammed his fist into the wall next to the man’s head, missing him by centimeters. The man gaped, breath choked from his throat, and his pants grew dark around his crotch as he pissed himself. Then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he fainted on the spot._

_Daichi straightened. He shook out his fist, grimacing. He glared down at the two unconscious men, spit on the ground near their faces with a scowl, then turned and descended into the subway._

 

***

“What happened?” Kuroo asks as soon as he sees Daichi enter the platform. The shopping bags are piled around Kuroo’s feet, and he crosses his arm, tapping one finger on his elbow. He lifts an eyebrow at the scraped knuckles on Daichi’s right hand.

“I told you, I had to use the bathroom,” Daichi says, chuckling. “Sorry I’m late to the train, Mom.”

Kuroo snorts. “We missed both direct trains because of your tiny bladder, dumbass.”

Daichi grins sheepishly. “Oops. We can take the long one.”

Kuroo bites his lip, trying not to make the obvious joke. _I’d like to take_ your _long one! Dammit, Tetsurou, there are children on this platform._ He takes a breath and shakes his head, smiling to himself. “You’re a handful, Sawamura-kun,” he says, poking Daichi’s chest.

Daichi smiles, but he pulls away from Kuroo’s hand, fidgeting. “Anyway, thanks for watching the stuff.”

Kuroo shifts awkwardly. “Uh, yeah, no problem.” He glances down at Daichi’s hand. “Seriously, dude, what happened? Are you gonna pretend I can’t see your hand?”

Daichi waves said hand dismissively. “Don’t worry so much,” he says with a small smile. “There was a puddle in the bathroom. I slipped.”

Kuroo backs away from Daichi. “Dude… It was… _water_ , right?”

Daichi freezes, his eyes widening. “Shit… I have no idea… _Oh god, it might be piss._ ”

Kuroo covers his mouth, snorting through his fingers. “Gross, man, that’s _nasty!_ ” He cracks up, and his laugh booms through the platform as he cackles and bends over, clutching his stomach, wheezing.

“Oi!” Daichi yells, smacking Kuroo’s back angrily. “Shithead, it’s not funny! Help me get it off! Kuroo! It’s not funny!”

During the train ride home, Kuroo asks a mother in their car if she has any cleaning products, preferably any kind of transportable detergent sticks. All she has is Pine-Sol for her kitchen floors. Kuroo smoothly asks to borrow some of it, offering a tomato from his grocery bags in return. She seems confused by the offer of a tomato, but agrees, and soon Kuroo is carefully pouring the Pine-Sol onto Daichi’s legs where he claims the puddle splashed him. It’s at that moment the train lurches to a stop at the next station, Kuroo loses his grip, the Pine-Sol goes up in the air, and it all comes down on Daichi. He screams and blubbers under the onslaught of liquid floor cleaner, swiping at his eyes and crying that it was burning him when it hadn’t even reached his neck, only the clothes on his torso and his jacket. The mother demands Kuroo pay for it, and Kuroo ends up handing over the rest of the money in his wallet, begging her to forgive him, while Daichi fumes in the seat next to him, smelling like bleach and lemons.

 

***

“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” Kuroo explains again.

Daichi’s eyebrows, already furrowed in frustration, cut deeper and deeper into his forehead, wrinkling as he frowns. “You’ve explained this joke five times now, and I still don’t get what’s so funny about it.”

“It’s not a joke, it’s a meme. Like from the internet.”

“It’s stupid,” Daichi grunts. “That’s what it is.”

Kuroo raises his wooden spoon from the mixing bowl, points it at Daichi threateningly. “You can insult me, but never attack my memes.”

Daichi grins, and they both crack up laughing.

Daichi is wearing new clothes and his hand is cleaned and bandaged. They’re in his kitchen cooking dinner before the new episode of Daichi’s favorite anime comes on. Five doors down from Daichi’s apartment is Kuroo’s own door. As easy as it would be to make dinner in his own kitchen—with his own food—it’s much more fun mooching off his five-doors-away-neighbor.

It’s also much lonelier there, in his quiet apartment with no company but papers that need grading.

“Remind me again what this show is about,” Kuroo says, tasting the contents of the bowl. He makes a face and quietly pushes the bowl to the side, hoping Daichi doesn’t notice the awful concoction he’s come up with.

“You’ve seen it before, Kuroo,” Daichi says absentmindedly, focusing on balancing a platter as he opens the oven, tosses everything inside, sets the timer, and triumphantly slams the fridge closed with a kick of his foot. “It’s about a super hero!”

Kuroo eyes the mess on the kitchen counter. “Uh-huh. And he can beat everything with just one punch? Gotta be boring.”

Daichi shrugs, smiling. “It’s a funny show, and I like the cyborg. He’s very diligent and devoted. Reminds me of one of my clients.”

Kuroo arches an eyebrow. “Oh-ho-ho? A budding romance perhaps?”

Daichi laughs, and it booms through the apartment. Kuroo can’t help but smile. “No, no, this client’s already taken. Not my type either.”

Kuroo grabs the counter and slides up onto it smoothly, letting his legs swing below him as he sits in the middle of the mess, offering no help as Daichi begins to clean up. He grins cheekily. “So what _is_ Sawamura-san’s type? Maybe I can help you out in the dating sphere?”

Daichi glares at Kuroo’s legs kicking his cabinets. “You _could_ help clean up. That would be nice.”

“I don’t really _do_ clean up…”

“You’re an ass.”

“No, I _have_ a nice ass,” Kuroo corrects patiently. “Slip of the tongue, I understand. I forgive you.”

Daichi pulls a hand towel from a cupboard, turning on Kuroo with a scary face. “I swear to  God, you _leech_!”

He lunges, whipping the towel at Kuroo, but Kuroo jumps off the counter, cackling. He bolts to the other room, leaping over the couch to roll behind it just as Daichi storms into the room.

“Kuroo,” he bellows. “Get your ‘nice ass’ back in the kitchen right now, or so help me—”

From behind the couch: “Hah! You admit I have a nice ass!”

Daichi grumbles, and Kuroo hears the towel drop to the floor. Then, suddenly, a shadow looms over him, and Kuroo realizes the couch is gone.

He looks up.

Daichi holds one end of the couch in his hands, lifted up to reveal Kuroo’s hiding spot. Kuroo has a moment to appreciate the fact that Daichi _just picked up a fucking couch_ before Daichi lets it fall back to the floor with a thunderous _thud_ and advances on Kuroo.

“You get back in that damned kitchen and help me clean or you’re not getting any food for a week.”

Kuroo backpedals, scrambles back into the wall. “No, wait!” He laughs, desperately trying to seem serious, but even Daichi is grinning. “Daichi, fucking wait! I don’t _wanna_!”

“Too bad,” Daichi hisses, and then he’s on Kuroo.

They get tangled, wrestling across the floor, grappling for a hold on each other. Something falls with a crash, but it doesn’t sound like glass so they keep going. They roll onto the remote and it turns the television on; the scream-o, opening song to Daichi’s anime blasts through the apartment. They laugh and gasp for breath, smooshing each other’s faces into the carpet with evil cackles and equally strong hands.

Someone bangs on the wall and the two of them freeze, Daichi’s arm wrapped around Kuroo’s head, Kuroo’s legs pinning Daichi’s waist. The disgruntled neighbor bangs the wall one more time, just for good measure, then the apartment falls silent again. Daichi and Kuroo glance at each other.

They collapse to the floor in a pile of tangled limbs and heaving laughs and tears stinging their eyes.

Kuroo ends up cleaning the whole kitchen. Daichi says it’s only fair for making him seem like “the annoying neighbor who can’t keep it down. The one thing I never wanted to be, Kuroo!” Dinner tastes like shit, and Daichi complains the whole time that he missed his show, but Kuroo can’t stop grinning to himself the entire night.

 

***

“You’re fucked,” Kenma says, sipping from his juice box.

“I wish,” Kuroo grumbles, and he chops clean through a bundle of celery stalks, mincing them to smithereens with grim ferocity. “He’s straight.”

Kenma watches Kuroo decimate the vegetables with one eyebrow raised. “You know, the celery doesn’t deserve to be the victim of your frustration.”

“Look at it,” Kuroo mutters, narrowing his eyes at the offending produce. “Such a straight and narrow vegetable. Disgusting.”

“I’m pretty sure it just grows that way to get sunlight, Tetsurou. I’m sure if it wanted to, the celery would be as non-heteronormative as it could be.”

Kuroo squints at Kenma. “Can you just let me be angry at a vegetable without turning it into some kind of life lesson?”

Kenma hops off the counter and shuffles over to the trashcan in Kuroo’s kitchen. “Whatever, you’re just being moody.” He tosses his empty juice box in the trash and wipes his hands on the legs of his jeans. “I’ve gotta go anyway. I’ve got a show tonight with some new kid. Guess he’s trying to pay his way through school. Just started last week.”

Kuroo raises his hand in a lazy wave without looking away from his cooking. “Wear the tutu, the crowd loves that one.”

Kenma makes a face, but Kuroo doesn’t see it. “You’ve never even seen me perform, how would you know?”

“I’ve seen you practicing in the mirror with that tutu, and if the people in that club have an ounce of common sense or even the slightest twinge of a libido, they’ll love it.”

Kenma blushes, and he’s glad Kuroo also doesn't see that face. “Whatever, perv. Stop watching me when I practice.”

“Maybe if you stopped trying out all your new costumes in _my_ apartment instead of yours…” Kuroo grins over his shoulder at Kenma to let him know he’s only teasing. “Go on,” he says, his smile growing gentler. “Go bring down the house.”

Kenma huffs and spins on his heel. Kuroo chuckles.

At the door, Kenma pauses, and he glances back over his shoulder, catching Kuroo’s eye just as he looks up from his cooking to watch Kenma go. Kenma lowers his head, a delicate bow to his friend across the room, and he smiles warmly. Kuroo feels something in his chest shift, and suddenly he’s choking, for once not knowing what to say, his throat hot and heavy.

Then Kenma slips quietly through the door, and he is gone.

Kuroo puts down his chopping knife on the block, steadying himself on the edge of the counter. He takes a deep breath, his eyes prickling, and he glares at the onions he’d been cutting.

“Goddammit,” he whispers. “Why am I so fucking gay?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk Kuroo, why /are/ you so fucking gay?
> 
> (We all know why.)
> 
> legendarysagehalfblood.tumblr.com


	3. all around me are familiar faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo goes through some real shit, his friends have his back, and Akaashi is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES
> 
> Guys I am so so so so so SO sorry this is so incredibly late WOW can you see why I don't do multichapter fics that much? :')
> 
> Anyway it was kuroo's birthday so I forced myself to update hhhhhh I hope you guys like it!! Long chapter ahead, it's like 8000 words f u c k
> 
> TW:: some homophobic language again/violence

 

 

 

Kuroo wakes up in the morning with a tutu wrapped around his head and a migraine like a vice on his skull.

He forces himself to drag his tired brain out of the warm comfort of sleep, rubbing his face and groaning. “Kenma,” he mutters, and he pulls the tutu off his head.

Kenma’s head pops out of the bathroom, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. He has a towel wrapped around his body and a small hand towel around his hair. “G’ mor’ing,” he says through the toothbrush.

Kuroo pushes himself out of bed and shuffles across his room to the bathroom. He notices his shirt isn’t on his body anymore; in fact, it’s hanging from his ceiling fan. He groans. “Please tell me we didn’t do anything last night,” he grumbles, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

Kenma gargles with some water, then spits into the sink. He wipes his mouth. “No. You were passed out by the time I got back.”

“So, my shirt?”

Kenma shrugs. “It was up there by the time I came in. I assumed you got drunk.”

Kuroo nods. That would explain his headache. “And you didn’t go back to your own place because…?”

Kenma’s golden eyes blink up at Kuroo in the mirror over the sink. “They turned my water off.”

Kuroo sighs. He wraps his arms around Kenma’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. His small body is still warm from his shower. “Sorry, baby,” he murmurs into Kenma’s hair. “I thought you had some money saved up?”

Kenma squirms under Kuroo’s arms, and he avoids looking at Kuroo in the mirror. “I kinda, maybe, gave most of my savings to the new guy.”

Kuroo straightens immediately. “What? New guy? What are you talking about?”

“Remember? My show last night? It was with this newbie the club just hired, and he’s such a good guy, Tetsurou, and he’s trying to get through college right now, and he really reminded me of you ‘cuz he’s so determined and nice and kind—”

“Alright, cut the bull,” Kuroo says. “I know you’re just lying now.”

Kenma sticks out his tongue.

Kuroo sighs. “Jesus, Kenma, if you keep giving your money away to strays like this, you’ll never get a shower in your own damn apartment.”

Kenma looks down. “I know,” he says in a small voice.

Kuroo groans. “Don’t do that, you know I can’t resist that pout. Okay, look, stay here so you don’t have to go back and forth to your place just to take a shower. You can stay as long as you need, but you better start saving up again. And be serious about it this time.”

Kenma twists around under Kuroo’s arms so his body is flush with Kuroo’s, and he wraps his own arms around Kuroo’s waist, very much aware of the blush creeping up Kuroo’s neck. “I will,” Kenma says softly. “I promise. Thank you, Tetsurou.” He leans up and kisses Kuroo’s cheek.

Kuroo grumbles and mutters, but he’s pleased, and his eyes are lit up and definitely awake now. “You’ve got to be the most troublesome q-p-p in the whole damn world,” he says. He shoos Kenma out of the bathroom. “I’ll get breakfast going as soon as I’m washed up. Stay out of trouble, will ya?”

Kenma nods, and he slips out of the bathroom.

Kuroo shuts the door and leans against it, sighing again. He shakes his head. “That damned idiot,” he murmurs. His heart squeezes, his chest tightens, and a part of him wants to be angrier at Kenma, but another, larger part of him knows he would have done the same. He hates seeing young kids struggle through life because of crippling student loans and debt. He’s already been there, already knows all about it.

Kuroo turns the shower on and slips out of his underwear, stepping into the hot water. He grits his teeth with sudden realization. His own utility bills will be up soon. Hopefully he has enough saved away to cover everything.

For now though, he just enjoys the hot water.

_Bzzt. Bzzt._

Kuroo groans. “God, now what?” He raises his voice. “Kenma, can you let in whatever asshole is at my door at _four in the goddamned morning_? Thanks _so_ much.”

Kuroo turns off the water just as he hears the door open. Voices from the front room drift through the walls, but Kuroo can’t make out what they’re saying. He quickly rubs himself dry, throwing the towel around his waist, figuring whoever it was could get all of Kuroo Tetsurou’s glorious morning nipples and barely dried shower hair if they thought they could call at four fucking—

Kuroo freezes in the hallway. “Daichi?”

Daichi looks up, and his eyes widen slightly. He blushes, looking away. “Oh, shit man, sorry. I didn’t realize you weren’t…uh.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. Kuroo looks down at himself calmly and somehow manages not to scream. Of all people to see him in nothing but a towel, it just has to be fucking Sawamura Daichi.

“You were late,” Daichi offers as an explanation, and Kuroo barely registers what he means. Then it clicks: _their morning run_. “I thought something was wrong,” Daichi continues. “I figured I’d come check on you.” He glances at Kenma, who is still wrapped in his own towel, sitting cross-legged on the counter and eating a banana from Kuroo’s fridge in a way that’s only slightly provocative _but especially when he does it like that_.

“That’s Kenma,” Kuroo blurts out, and he jumps in front of Kenma, trying to hide the blatant sexual innuendo Kenma attempts to convey via fruit. “He’s my, um, friend.”

Daichi nods. “Oh. Right. Friend.”

Kuroo nods. “Yes, exactly.” Then he shakes his head. “I mean, no, not like that, it’s just, you see, his water, they turned it off, and uh, he’s staying the night, just the night, and—”

“I thought I could stay as long as I needed, _baby_ ,” Kenma pipes up from behind Kuroo, and Kuroo has never wanted to murder another human being more than now.

“Kenma, go put your clothes on. I’m canceling breakfast. You’re on your own.”

Kenma hops down from the counter, sticking his tongue out at Kuroo. “Mean,” he says, then saunters out of the kitchen towards Kuroo’s room, swaying his hips like he’s prince of the whole goddamned apartment building, like he’s an open invitation, and _god_ if Daichi only knew how accurate that was he’d probably reconsider the kind of friends Kuroo Tetsurou hung out with when he wasn’t teaching or running in the park at ungodly hours of the morning.

The door to Kuroo’s room shuts softy behind Kenma, and Kuroo runs a hand down his face, letting out a long sigh. He drags himself over to a stool at the little table in his kitchen, waving at Daichi to do the same. Daichi sits, somewhat awkwardly, a small, amused smile still lighting up his face. “Sorry about…that,” Kuroo says wearily, and jerks his head towards the back of his apartment. “Kenma’s a very old, very close friend, and he’s in a little pinch with money right now, so I’m just putting him up here for a while. He likes to, uh, make things hard for me.”

Kuroo hates himself for phrasing it that way the second the words are out of mouth, and he wonders if Daichi will pick up on how it sounds—or how true it is—before he can recover.

“He was nice to me,” is all Daichi says, and Kuroo isn’t expecting that. He lets Daichi continue. “At the door, he kinda stared me up and down, like he was reading me or something.” Daichi rubs the back of his head, laughing softly. “I was actually kinda nervous, even though he’s so much smaller than me. I felt…I felt for sure if I didn’t answer exactly the way he wanted, something very, very bad would happen to me.” His eyes glistened mischievously. “He’s a tough one, that guy, isn’t he?”

Kuroo glances back at his room, his eyes softening. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “He is.”

He turns back to Daichi, and sees the other man smiling at him, a beaming, wide grin. “Good for you, man,” Daichi laughs, and his words confuse Kuroo too long for him to say anything elsebefore Daichi stands, clapping his hands together. “Well, we running today, or not? I’m getting stiff, and you’re running out of time before you’ve gotta get ready for school, Mr. Professor.”

Kuroo stands too, letting his confusion fall away for a moment, allowing himself to simply enjoy having Daichi’s company, and he runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up into its usual romp. “Course we are, lazy-bones,” he grins. “We can’t let you gain anymore flab, right? Gotta be in tip-top shape, Thunder Thighs.”

“Oi! I’m not flabby!”

_Oh, I know_ , Kuroo wants to say, but he only laughs, smacking Daichi’s shoulder. “Prove it then, speedster! Let’s go!” He makes for the door, grinning happily.

“Hey, Kuroo, before we leave…”

“Hm?”

“You might wanna put something on besides a towel. It’s kinda cold outside.”

“Shit. Right.”

 

***

They run like they run every day, cold and complaining and laughing and pointing out the leaves falling from the trees and the cloud stream of a jet overhead in the pale yellow of the slowly brightening sky. They run their usual circuit around the pond in the middle of the park, passing other early joggers, though not many others are brave enough to face the bitter wind of the early mornings. They run between trees, stepping lightly around bushes on the well-worn paths through the wooded areas of the park.

They stop to catch their breath, nod silently to each other, their faces flush in the cold, their bodies singing what it is to be alive under the rising sun as the clean wind blows through them. They smile to each other in a mutual understanding of their small place in the world.

Then they go back to running.

When the sunlight hits them over the crowns of the bare trees, they part ways with a promise to meet back at Kuroo’s apartment so he can help Daichi prepare for his business dinner tomorrow. They hug each other lightly, one arm thrown across the other’s shoulder and a simple pat on the back. Then they leave their sacred park, and head out into their separate schedules alone.

 

***

Kuroo is showing his advanced biology class the similarities between human and banana DNA when the president of the university slips quietly into the back of the room. Kuroo pretends not to notice, and he’s proud of his students when they ignore the president too. There are only four today. One of them, Hinata, called out sick. Or rather, he sent an email seven minutes before class was supposed to start, and of course on the day that Akaashi Keiji decides to observe.

“So,” Kuroo says, “because we share fifty percent of our DNA with a phallic fruit, that makes us…what?”

One student raises his hand. “Everyone’s gay?”

There are some snickers, and Kuroo smiles. He doesn’t look at Akaashi. “Correct, Yaku, literally everyone on the planet is bombastically homosexual.”

Yaku laughs. “Bombastically? Who says that anymore, old man? You stuck in the early 2000s or something?”

“Oi, I’m still your esteemed professor, you know! Show some respect!” Kuroo grins.

Lev, a Russian exchange student, raises his long arm. “Sensei, so, are you the bombastic gay, or the phallic fruit?” The other three students burst out laughing.

Kuroo’s grin turns scary. “Watch it, Lev, or I’ll set Yaku on you in the lab again.” Everyone laughs again, and Lev blushes.

Kuroo glances above Akaashi’s head, looking past him to the clock on the wall. “Alright you little demons, it’s about time to wrap up. Yaku, Lev, get me those papers on hydrogen peroxide. Yachi, or Kageyama, one of you get today’s notes to Hinata.”

The four students call out “Yes, Sensei,” as they gather their things and head out for their next class, their friendly chatter bubbling and happy as they leave into the hallway, merging with other students and letting the door fall shut behind them.

The room goes quiet.

Kuroo stares after them, watching the door intently, refusing to take his eyes from it, to look at the university’s president.

He hears a shift of clothing. “Kuroo-san—”

“Keiji, please. Not right now. I don’t need to hear it again.”

Akaashi tries again. “Kuroo-kun,” he says softer. “The department is shrinking. The trustees don’t want to dump money into something that isn’t showing results. A class of five students—even five dedicated, passionate students—isn’t gonna fly anymore. Dedication is great, but it doesn’t mean results. If these students were showing initiative, momentum…”

Kuroo looks up from the door at last. His eyes are burning bright. “Initiative? You want to talk about _initiative_? Hinata Shoyou was just accepted into an exchange program in America. Yachi Hitoka is on track to graduating top of her class! Haiba Lev and Yaku Morisuke…well, they just started the first volleyball club on campus, and their membership is growing! These students _are_ showing initiative, Keiji, and they also have dedication and passion about this class. It’s not my fault no one takes an interest in the sciences anymore.”

His temper is rising, and he can hear the old frustration creeping into his voice. “It’s not my fault all the families that send their kids here only expect their sons and daughters to come out as exact replicas of themselves: cold, hollow, ready to step into the family business or crunch numbers forever or have a head only for cutting deals and stealing money and pie charts and skyscrapers and statistics and, and… _Damn it!_ ” He hurls his pen at the wall. It bounces off and lands with a little _tap_ on the floor.

Kuroo breathes heavily. He steadies himself against his desk. “I’m…I’m very sorry, Akaashi-san. I apologize for that inappropriate outburst.” He bows low over the desk towards Akaashi, then straightens again to see Akaashi waving it off.

“You’re frustrated, Kuroo,” Akaashi says. “I get it. I’m just as worried about all this as you are. I know what this class—this entire department—means to you. You’ve worked hard to get it where it is now.”

Kuroo can sense it. He closes his eyes. Sits down in his seat. Waits.

“But the board is looking ahead. At practicality. After this semester, the university will be terminating several contracts. I really didn’t want it to come to this, I didn’t…”

Kuroo stops listening. He’s right, after all.

Akaashi’s voice is still there, bouncing off the walls like Kuroo’s pen, landing on the floor with little taps, little ripples that spread and roll and pitch like a ship at sea, the ropes cut free, the tattered sails, the masts splintered and shattered by canon fire, but Kuroo’s arm is free and his sword his damned, and he takes them as they come, the privateers and merchants who come for his crew, his ship, his blessed vessel and his precious mates, they jump aboard and he roars at them with fiery winds that whip the sea into a hellish maelstrom and his sword tastes blood, and he tastes blood, warm and metallic and thick in his mouth, and he crouches over the bodies of his fallen foes to rip out their hearts and toss them back into the ocean, back into the deep water from whence they came, the dark womb of the earth where all life once swam and was free, and he throws himself at the battered mast of his ship and his crew is there, and his ship is strong, and the waves are gentle, and the winds are kind, and the sky is good, and the sea is sacred, and the enemy is gone, gone over the horizon into the bright blink of night’s sleep where numbers and skyscrapers can never grow, and he is free, free as the god-wild wind in his sails, free as the little bird coming out of its shell into the sunlight, free as a dancer at his pole, free at last and free at last and free at last.

“I’m so sorry, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi is saying. Kuroo looks up at him, the ship sunk back into the floor, the world of university and department budget cuts and trustee boards coming back to him in one slow blink.

“Oh. Yes. Well, so am I, I guess.” He gets up from his chair, trailing his finger over the familiar tear in the back of the cushion, right where his thumb always catches. “I guess I’ll just go home and…look for a new job. Starting next semester, I guess.”

“Kuroo,” Akaashi pleads, “you know if you need recommendations or anything like that, please just let me know. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course, Akaashi. Of course, thank you. No, no, I’m fine. I’ll see myself out of the school. I think I’m going to be sick the rest of the day and just cancel my other classes. Yes, thank you, I’ll be alright. I’ll…I’ll see you, Akaashi-san.”

Kuroo leaves the room quickly and quietly, not waiting to hear any more from Akaashi. He pulls his beanie over his head and shoves his arms into his jacket sleeves. He avoids his colleagues in the hallways, fires off an email from his phone to his other classes when he reaches the door to the science building, and gets off the campus as fast as he can. He heads for a main road, just anywhere with a subway entrance, anywhere to get home as quickly as possible.

Hands shaking, he texts Kenma their emergency word. Not even two minutes later, he gets a message back saying Kenma has blankets and pillows and movies and video games and candy and mac-and-cheese and he’s ordering sweet curry and Does he want to stay home for the rest of the day? and if he does, Does he want Kenma to pick up some mackerel? and On second thought Kenma can send his boyfriend the physical trainer to go shopping for them? and at this point Kuroo is almost smiling at his phone, but his body is still shaking, and he still feels incredibly numb, and the world is titled all wrong.

He finds a subway entrance and hurries down the stairs, two at a time. He grips his phone in his pocket like a lifeline, a physical reminder that Kenma is waiting for him, waiting with comfort. He can hold off the attack, he knows he can, he knows, he knows, he knows he’ll be okay.

His train is on time, and he breathes. He steps into one of the last cars. It’s still the middle of the day, people are still at work. It’s relatively less crowded than it normally is, which is to say the people in the car aren’t exactly rolled like sardines in a tin, they actually have some room to stand. Kuroo breathes again. He is grateful for the breath and the space.

The train reaches his stop, and he pries his way through the crowd, apologizing and bowing out of the car to the elderly women watching everything with eyes that look like they’ve seen real shit.

He pushes through the crowded station to the stairs leading up into the air. Air, he needs air. Too cramped down there. He makes his way into the daylight, breathing deep, trying to control his breath, trying to feel it in his lungs. His body is starting to prickle with numbness. He grips the phone tighter in his pocket as he hurries along the sidewalk towards his apartment.

And then they’re there.

Kuroo doesn’t know how long they’ve been following him, but he suddenly senses them on the edge of his vision, shadows that keep detaching themselves from buildings and skirting his peripherals, always keeping him in sight while staying out of his full view. He quickens his pace. He’s only two blocks from home. He can make it, he can—

Suddenly, they’re in front of him, and Kuroo realizes they’d been hunting him, purposefully lying in wait, the others distracting him at the edge of his vision so he wouldn’t notice the ones about to ambush him.

Three guys step out from an alleyway, blocking Kuroo’s path. He freezes, breathing hard, his phone gripped in his hand. He fumbles with it in his pocket, then pulls his hand out, raising both arms up carefully. “Hey, guys,” he tries to say casually, but his voice breaks. “What can I help you—”

“Shut up, faggot,” one of them snarls, and Kuroo feels his stomach go cold.

Behind him, two other guys appear, panting hard. They must have been the ones who’d been following him. Kuroo glances over his shoulder, a cold sweat forming on his skin. His already anxious stomach turns over, and he feels like he’s going to hurl. He swallows. “What…what’s going on here…”

One of the guys in front of him steps forward. His face is badly bruised and he’s limping. “We know what you are, you piece of shit,” he says. He speaks calmly, like he’s talking to an animal. “You’re in our schools, making our students fucking freaks like you.”

Kuroo can’t feel his lungs working. “What do you mean—”

“And yesterday, your fag boyfriend attacked me and Shiro—” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at one of the other men standing in front of Kuroo, who looks nervously away “So now it’s your turn to know what it feels like to get the shit kicked out of you. You deserve it anyway. Faggot.”

Kuroo backs up. “What the hell, man, you can’t be serious, right? It’s 2016, like, what century do you live in?” He isn’t paying attention to what he’s saying, he’s just babbling, buying time, hoping, praying the speaker on his phone can pick up what the men around him are saying. “Are you really this fucking sick that you’re gonna stalk someone on their way home and—”

“ _Shut up!_ ” the guy shouts. There are some people on the sidewalk on the other side of the street watching them, and they’ve created enough of a scene now that people on their side are forced to walk in the street to get around them, but some people are lingering, concern and fear in their eyes, not understanding what’s passing between the group of men and the one, nervous young guy in the middle.

The men in front move closer as if by some unspoken command. Kuroo’s mind goes blank, and it’s too much, the entire fucking day is too much, first Akaashi, now this, and he feels his soul lose itself in a blank, empty scream as the men close in, his hands covering his head instinctively, his voice ragged and desperate, praying that someone passing by will do something, will please just for once help him, will step up against these men and just make them go away, make everything go away.

As the first hand grabs his shirt, the squeal of tires burns like a trumpet in the dim background, and Kuroo and the men both look up.

A taxi shoves its way through traffic, swerving in between other cars and making one dangerous maneuver to pass a giant oil truck. Kuroo can barely feel his body anymore, he’s completely resigned himself to the blank terror that made his mind go white and empty, but he can feel something like a smile at his mouth. He knows only one taxi driver in all of Tokyo who drives like that.

“Bokuto,” he murmurs. The men holding him look down at him, then back at the taxi. It’s coming right at them now, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to slow down, and whoever the hell “Bokuto” is doesn’t seem like he’s about to regard the sidewalk as a “no-driving zone,” and the men around Kuroo start to back up in fear.

But at the last minute, the taxi swerves to the side, staying on the road, and the back door flies open. While the car is still moving, someone leaps out and rolls to the ground, coming up with a look like a savage beast about to tear a helpless hiker to shreds in the lonely stillness of the mountain. At first Kuroo thinks it’s a bear that just flew out of the taxi, but he looks again, and he sees. The two injured men see, also, and their eyes go wide with horrified recognition.

Barreling towards them without hesitation, charging like a raging bull, is Daichi.

“ _KUROO!_ ”

He descends on them like an animal.

Daichi knocks two of the men over right away, forcing himself into the center, standing over Kuroo like a samurai guarding his lord. But the blood is pumping through the other men, and they’d come for violence, and their numbers are greater, so they surge on him.

Daichi holds the center, ducking and taking punches, pushing them all away with wild sweeps of his arms, precisely placed punches that send the men reeling back. He creates a vacuum around Kuroo, snarling and dark with anger, drawing their attention to himself, and never leaving his spot, rooted over Kuroo to keep their attacks away from him.

But it’s still five on one, and Daichi suddenly falters, stumbling. One of the men goes for his ankle, kicking it out from under him, and Daichi falls, the great monster brought down to one knee, the hunters jeering and stabbing at him with their fists.

Kuroo looks up in horror at the position they’re in. Daichi is curled over Kuroo, his back taking the pummeling of all the fists. Even on his knees, beaten and battered, he is still protectingKuroo.

“Stop it,” Kuroo whispers. He wants to shout it, at all the men, at Daichi, at everyone in the street.

Daichi looks down at him then, grimacing through the pain of the men’s fists and feet, and he winces a smile at Kuroo.

“We’re still on for tonight at my place, right?”

Then with a roar, he whirls around and throws the men off him. He gets back on his feet, his fists damned and his teeth bared, and he roars at them.

The five men seem afraid now, but they’re being driven by hate, and they know nothing else. Hate and fear are such powerful motivators when it’s all you’ve ever known. They press in again with a single mind to take Daichi down to their level, to make him hate as much as they do, to make him hurt.

Then one of them freezes, his body going rigid under a large hand curled around his neck. Another hand snaps at his collarbone, pinching a nerve, and the guy crumples to the ground.

“Hey, hey, hey now,” a new voice says, and the men back away, gaping up at a man dressed in a taxi driver’s uniform, pulling his gloves from his curling fists. “Kuroo, you get yourself in trouble again?”

Bokuto is big. He’s bigger than all of them, even Daichi. His eyes pierce though them, hawk eyes that look down at everything like it’s a mouse he’s hunting from miles above in the sky. His smile is huge and grinning, playful, as if he isn’t worried one bit that he may have to fight these men. He knows he won’t. They won’t put up much of a fight at all, even if they tried. He takes off his driver’s cap to reveal his messy hair. He tosses the hat and gloves to the ground, then takes his place next to Daichi, the two of them forming a wall between Kuroo and the men. He crosses his arms and waits, grinning that playful, cold grin.

The men look at one another. One of them shuffles his foot forward, about to step towards Bokuto.

Bokuto’s wide eyes see everything though, and he whips his head around to stare at the man. The smile hasn’t left his face. “Uh-uh,” he warns. His eyes glimmer with dark anger in the center of his golden irises. “If you move towards me, I’ll take that as a sign the fight’s begun.” His smile widens. “And I’ll take your foot first. Pop it right off your fucking leg. If you say anything, I’ll take that as a sign the fight’s begun. And I’ll take your throat first. Understood?”

His eyes sweep around the circle of men, who are frozen in fear, their mouths opening and closing like fish, no words coming out. Their faces are red with embarrassment and anger and terror.

“If you all want to keep your skin on your filthy bones,” Bokuto says, and his voice becomes nasty, powerful, commanding, “I suggest you turn the fuck around, and never come down this block again. This is my most common route, pals.” His smile turns feral. “I’ll be fucking watching for you.”

The men don’t need any further encouraging. They turn and run, shouting curses and hollering slurs at all of them.

Bokuto whoops and hollers back, laughing maniacally, his voice rising over the sound of traffic and the gathered murmurs of the crowd that has appeared. Some people are taking pictures. Some are on the phone, talking rapidly to the police or their bosses or their families.

As soon as the men are gone, Bokuto’s face goes serious. He turns to Daichi. “Let’s get him in the car. We need to get him home, now.”

Daichi kneels down in front of Kuroo immediately. “Hey,” he says softly, his tired face smiling. “Ready to go home?”

Kuroo can’t hold it in any longer. He breaks down sobbing into Daichi’s shoulder. His body goes numb, and he loses himself to ragged breathing and a blank wall of panic and anxiety.

“Crap,” Bokuto sighs. “Daichi-san, can you carry him?”

Daichi stands, Kuroo huddled in his arms. “Of course,” he says fiercely. He shoulders his way through the crowd of onlookers, the useless people who’d stood by and done nothing. Bokuto pushes his way through as well, back to his cab, ignoring the people who are asking what had happened, who had those men been, did they need the police? Daichi doesn’t look at any of them. He lifts his chin, walks proudly through the crowd to Bokuto’s car, Kuroo huddled in his arms, crying and crying and crying. Daichi doesn’t look at any of them. He looks only at Kuroo.

Bokuto helps them in, then slams the door shut, muffling the world around them to a dull hum. Daichi holds Kuroo close, letting him cry into his jacket, letting him be broken, letting him for a moment be safe.

 

***

As soon as they get Kuroo into his apartment, Kenma hurries out of the bedroom and takes him from them, pulling Kuroo into a careful embrace, his hands rubbing soothing circles into his back, his lips close to Kuroo’s ear, whispering softly things Bokuto and Daichi couldn’t hear, nor did they want to, the sudden onslaught of raw emotion and love from Kenma so pure and powerful it left them feeling awkward and small in the room. They watch Kenma lead Kuroo to the bedroom, and hear the sound of a TV turn on.

Kenma pokes his head out. “Give me a couple minutes with him,” he says, his soft voice carrying across the apartment. Bokuto nods and collapses into a chair in the kitchen, like he’s lived there all his life. Daichi sits next to him.

“Thank fuck we got there in time,” Bokuto says with a deep sigh. He loosens the tie of his uniform. “If Kenma hadn’t called… I don’t know, man…”

Daichi nods. “Yeah, that was lucky.” He looks at Bokuto. “How did Kenma know, exactly?”

Bokuto gets up from his chair and walks over to the fridge, pulling out a couple juice boxes. He makes a face at them, mutters something about Kuroo never having anything stronger than apple juice, then turns back to Daichi, sucking on a juice pouch. “He called Kenma right when the guys showed up, left his phone on speaker. Kenma heard what was going on, used the apartment’s phone to get in touch with me, which was lucky cuz I was only a block away dropping off some senator or something. Had to kick him out real fast, you know? I’m assuming he got to you first, somehow, since he told me you’d be waiting for me.”

Daichi nods, remembering the panicked phone call he got from Kuroo’s apartment, only it was Kenma’s voice. He can’t remember much after that, only instructions to “Get in the cab!” shouted from some wild-haired, bright-eyed man, who is now in Kuroo’s apartment with Daichi drinking juice.

“Bokuto-san, were you…” Daichi clears his throat. “Were you really going to rip that guy’s foot off? And their, um, throats?”

Bokuto chuckles. It sounds strained. He’s tired. “Nah, bro, I hate violence.” He grins knowingly. “But your enemy never has to know that, do they?”

Daichi nods. He can feel the result of his violence on his knuckles, of the enemies’ violence on his back. It hurts. Everywhere, it hurts.

“I guess I’ve got a lot to learn about dealing with…people like that,” Daichi says.

Bokuto’s face darkens. “Daichi-san, I may not condone violence, but make no mistake… I’m not gonna get in your way if those bastards come back for Tetsurou and you’re the only thing between him and them. If you need to break them to send them scurrying back to their filthy holes, then hit ‘em till they break.”

Daichi feels a shiver run down his spine at Bokuto’s words. The intense desire to _protect_ , to become a barrier between Kuroo and everything that seeks him harm…it rolls off Bokuto like waves of disdain, disdain for everything in the world that does not see Kuroo as beautiful and good. It humbles Daichi, and he is quiet, not knowing what to say.

“Bokuto-san,” Daichi finally says. “I think it’s time I know what’s going on. Yesterday two of those guys followed us to the subway. They said Kuroo was… Why do they have a problem with him? Has he done something to them?”

Bokuto sips his juice. The kitchen is quiet. In the other room, they can hear the low murmur of the TV, Kenma’s soft voice, Kuroo’s whimpers.

Bokuto looks up, and Daichi pales. Those eagle eyes are blown wide, all-consuming, seeing through Daichi as if he were glass, assessing, calculating, appraising him for all he has been and might be, a golden lance thrown down from heaven to pierce him through the chest and it is those eyes, those eyes that cast thunder from the dark clouds, rolling over the earth with silent wingbeats, a great horned owl passing over the forest canopy, frightening all the little creatures below into silence, though his ears can hear even the faintest heartbeat, his eyes can pick out the slightest movement of fear, show no fear, _show no fear before those wild eyes_ —

The beast inside Bokuto seems to settle, the wild hunt retreating behind his eyes. He leans against the counter, watching Daichi. “It’s not my place to say anything. That’s up to Tetsurou. What did they call him?”

Daichi swallows. It’s probably not a good idea to repeat that word in front of this monster, or else he might end up taking the quick way down to the sidewalk—right out Kuroo’s window. He shakes his head. “It’s not something I’d ever call him, if…if it’s true.”

Bokuto pushes away from the counter. “And what if it is?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. It doesn’t matter, what matters is that he’s okay. He’s my friend and that’s all that matters.”

Bokuto stares down at him, those eyes drinking in every detail of his face, judging his worth.

“Koutarou, leave Daichi alone.”

Kenma walks into the kitchen, Kuroo’s bathrobe trailing from him like a wedding train. Daichi tries to ignore the thought that it very well might be. He also ignores the pang of something unidentifiable in his stomach, a certain twist of some gut emotion.

Bokuto’s face instantly clears, and he smiles again, the dark clouds behind his eyes vanishing. He hops up and pulls out a chair for Kenma, who thanks him softly and climbs gracefully into it, folding his legs underneath him on the seat and curling his toes over the edge.

“Panic attack?” Bokuto asks.

Kenma nods wearily. “He sent me the emergency word before he got on his train, then when his phone called me but he wasn’t answering I knew something was wrong. It sounded like there were some people giving him a hard time, so I called Daichi—” He lifts a lazy finger and waves it towards Daichi. “He lives five doors down. And he was here this morning to take Kuroo running. I figured he’d be able to help. He looked scary enough, anyway.”

Daichi blinks, not sure if it’s supposed to be a compliment or an insult. But Bokuto laughs, and even Kenma’s mouth curves into a small smile. Daichi blinks again, then grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Ah, sorry,” he says. “Just one of those faces.”

“Don’t mind, don’t mind,” Bokuto says, swatting Daichi’s shoulder like a hammer pounding a nail. Daichi almost stumbles out of his chair, but he rights himself and laughs with Bokuto and Kenma.

“Seriously, though, Kenma,” Bokuto says, his voice softening. “Thanks for calling me. I know he and I haven’t talked in a while, but I still worry about him, you know? I’m glad I could help.”

Kenma nods. “You know you’re still the person he talks about most. It’s so annoying. And he always tells me to call you if I’m ever in trouble. Well, he was in trouble.”

Bokuto beams. “What’s this? That sneaky cat still talks about me? Gah! I feel like a little schoolgirl!” His voice rises—impressively—several octaves. “ _Oh no! The handsome Kuroo Tetsurou has a crush on me?! Eiee! What will I do?_ ”

From the back of the apartment, a small voice calls from the bedroom. “I can hear you, bastard. Kenma, who let him in here?”

Bokuto roars with laughter while Kenma rolls his eyes. Daichi looks towards Kuroo’s bedroom, wishing he could go in and see him. He feels like he’s intruding on a personal conversation between Bokuto and Kenma. And learning a lot more about Kuroo than he thought he would from either of them.

“Kenma,” Kuroo’s voice calls again. “Please show that birdbrain to the door. And call Daichi’s apartment, tell him I’m not going over tonight. I don’t want him seeing me all…shitty.”

Kenma gets up from his chair, grabbing Bokuto’s arm like the big, beefy man is nothing but a pesky child, ignores Bokuto’s protests and squawks of complaint, and shouts back into the apartment, “Tell him yourself, dumbass.”

Daichi goes red.

There is silence from Kuroo’s room, and Daichi tries to pay attention to Kenma getting rid of Bokuto, who’s laughing too much and pretending to resist the much smaller Kenma pushing him out the door, but his eyes don’t focus on what his ears are listening to, and he sees Kuroo step out from the bedroom.

His hair is a mess. His eyes are bloodshot. His clothes have been changed, and he’s wearing the most ridiculous cat pajamas Daichi has ever seen. He shuffles out of the room wrapped in a huge comforter, and it looks soft and warm and cozy. Something clicks inside Daichi’s chest, and he knows that this is right. This is how Kuroo should look (minus the red eyes from crying). He should be comfortable, at home, rested and peaceful. Not like earlier. Not like today in the street. What Daichi saw then was panic. A cornered animal ready to give up to the stronger predators around him. A light about to killed.

Daichi’s fist curls in his lap, and he stops pretending to pay attention to Kenma and Bokuto at the door. He rises as soon as he sees Kuroo and steps towards him.

Kuroo hesitates at the door to his room, stepping back from Daichi, and the apartment goes quiet, the world on a knife’s edge, Bokuto and Kenma both watching the scene unfold, Daichi stepping forward boldly into the soft light of the setting sun that streams in from the window, and Kuroo watching him, watching, his eyes broken and hurting and so tired, and Daichi is tired, tired of caring anymore, tired of trying to keep up with Kenma and Bokuto, with people who know more about Kuroo than he does, and all he wants to do is stay with him now, stay with him for a little while and make the hurt go away, and isn’t that natural? Isn’t it normal to want to stay with those you love, to take away the hurting and the pain and leave only the healing? Daichi doesn’t know what any of it means, doesn’t know why people would want to hurt Kuroo, and maybe it’s because Kuroo’s different, maybe it’s because of who Kuroo is, but what makes up Kuroo, every atom and breath of celestial light, Daichi wouldn’t trade for anything normal, wouldn’t trade it for all the healing in the world, he would take all the hurting, all the pain if he could, and leave Kuroo only the pure light of the sky.

Daichi steps forward, and he takes Kuroo in his arms, the sunlight coming down around them like holy fire. He takes Kuroo in his arms and he is gentle. He takes Kuroo in his arms, and Kuroo feels so light and tired, and he draws him in close, and Kuroo grips him like a lifeline, shakes in his arms. Daichi whispers to him, cradling his head as Kuroo starts crying again. They sink to the floor together, leaning against the doorframe to Kuroo’s room. Daichi rocks them back and forth, smoothing Kuroo’s hair, holding him as tightly as he can.

Bokuto and Kenma watch from the door. Kenma glances at Bokuto, and is surprised to see the big guy’s eyes are warm, watery. Kenma nudges him, looking quizzical. Bokuto looks down, smiling softly. He nods towards Daichi holding Kuroo. “That used to be me,” he whispers. He says it simply, not regretting or hurt, not bitter or resenting, not jealous or angry. He says it as if he’s relieved. Relieved that Kuroo has someone who cares for him as Bokuto had. He nods to Kenma, then quietly leaves the apartment.

 

***

It’s late in the afternoon when Daichi finally decides he needs to go back to his apartment and get something to eat. He certainly hadn’t been expecting to spend his only day off this week getting into a fight, and he needs to go take a shower, look over himself and make sure nothing is too badly injured. He has a cut on his cheek and a slight bruise under his eyelid that he wants to treat before it swells into a black eye. He tells Kenma he’ll come back later in the evening if he or Kuroo needs him for anything else. Kenma nods appreciatively, watching him leave, always watching.

Kenma closes the door after Daichi and turns back to find Kuroo in the pantry, blanket still wrapped around him. He clears his throat, making Kuroo jump. “I thought Daichi and I told you to stay in bed and watch _Battlestar Galactica_?”

Kuroo laughs softly, pulling out a box of crackers. “The effects are so cheesy in the older seasons though. I can’t stand it.”

Kenma puts his hands on his hips. “Not my point. Back to bed, mister. I’m forbidding you from leaving. If you so much as step foot outside that room, I’ll throw out all the sweet curry before we can eat for it dinner. And then we’ll both starve.”

Kuroo laughs again—a little louder, Kenma is pleased to note. “What if I need to go to the bathroom, Mr. Warden?”

Kenma lifts his nose imperiously. “There are empty water bottles in the cupboard. You may take one and bring it back to the room with you.”

“Ew, _gross_ , Kenma!”

Kenma grins wickedly and jumps towards Kuroo. Kuroo instinctively drops the box of crackers and reaches for him, catching him under the arms and swinging him around, hugging him tight. Kenma curls his legs around Kuroo’s waist, nuzzling his head against the soft comforter over Kuroo’s shoulder. “Now, take me back to the room,” Kenma commands.

Kuroo chuckles, and it vibrates through Kenma’s body, making him smile into Kuroo’s blanket. “Yes, sir,” Kuroo says, grinning.

He hoists Kenma over his shoulder, and lugs him, squealing and giggling, back into the bedroom, where he tosses him on the bed and jumps in after him, tickling him and laughing, crying _oof_ when Kenma’s foot connects with his hip as he spasms and laughs breathlessly. “Is this what you wanted?” Kuroo leans down and blows a raspberry in Kenma’s stomach, making the other boy scream with laughter. “Huh? Is this what you wanted?”

“No! No, Kuroo! Kuroo, stop it, stop, _Kuroo, I’m gonna pee, stop it that’s not fair!_ ”

Kuroo lets go of Kenma, grinning and laughing, watching Kenma gather the blankets around him like a shield. He tries to act with his usual dignity and regal calmness, but Kuroo has blasted that apart too easily. Neither of them can stop giggling.

Kuroo collapses next to Kenma. He presses a quick kiss to the top of his blond hair, closing his eyes as he breathes in Kenma’s scent, grateful for every ounce of him. “I love you, Kenma,” he says softly, seriously. “Thank you for getting Kou and Daichi so fast. I…” His voice shakes. “I was in real trouble out there.”

Kenma squirms under Kuroo’s arms, wrapping his hands around Kuroo’s waist and pulling them closer together. They huddle together in the warmth of the blankets and the late afternoon light off the cherry blossoms outside. It isn’t sexual, it is only the purest of touch, cuddling together after a long day apart, needing the warmth the other’s touch can bring, drinking deeply of the other from the need of comfort and affection. They play with each other’s hair, murmuring quietly again and again, “I love you, Kenma,” “I love you, Tetsurou.” _Battlestar Galactica_ plays on the TV. The apartment is quiet, and they are together.

After a while, about an hour and a half later, Kenma twists under Kuroo’s arms. They are hopelessly tangled together, languishing lazily across the bed. “Hey,” he says, his voice small. “Daichi is really worried about you.”

Kuroo looks at him. “I know. I’ll talk to him.”

Kenma stares down into Kuroo’s eyes. “You need to really talk with him, Kuroo. Like, you know, about stuff. He pretty much knows already, I guess. Apparently those creeps said something about you to him, and now he knows. Stuff.”

“Well. Shit.”

Kenma shakes his head. “He’s not like that, Tetsurou. He was more worried about you than what they were saying. You know, he dropped everything to go help you. He’s alright, I guess. I approve.”

Kuroo chuckles. “Gee, thanks, mom. I’ve always wanted your approval.”

“It’s not worth much, is it? I approved of Bokuto and look how _that_ went.”

“Listen, the Bike Incident of 2012 was a one time thing. I’ve never broken anything since!”

“You’d also never broken anything _before_. Yet there we all were, watching them put a cast around your—”

“We _really_ don’t need to bring that back up.”

Kenma smiles, and Kuroo sighs. “Listen, I like Daichi, I really do. But, like, as a friend. It…it can’t be anything more than that.” His voice gets tight, and Kenma looks away, out the window. Kuroo hates it when people see him cry, even Kenma. “I know it can’t, okay?”

Kenma turns back to him, and he presses a light kiss to Kuroo’s cheek. “I think you just need to trust in other people, Tetsurou. Trust in your friends to support you. Trust Daichi enough to tell him the truth, all of it. Please, Kuroo. It’ll help if you’re just honest with him.”

Kuroo nods. “I know. I know…”

Kenma wriggles underneath him. “That reminds me, you still need to help him get his dinner thing ready for tomorrow night. Because he’s useless without his sou chef.”

“I’m a terrible cook and you know it.”

Kenma sits up and slaps Kuroo’s ass. Kuroo grunts, barely registering it. “You are,” Kenma agrees, “but Daichi doesn’t need to know that. You’re there for…emotional support as he battles the food and tries to wrestle it under his control.” Kenma slips out of the bed, his hair a mess and Kuroo’s bathrobe slipping off his shoulder. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate. Then you need to shower and get over there like you promised.”

“Kenmaaa,” Kuroo whines. “I’m suffering a trauma over here. I was just fucking attacked in the streets!”

Kenma saunters to the door, flinging one last smoldering look over his shoulder. “You go help that poor man with his dinner, and I’ll make it worth your while when you come back.”

Then he closes the door shut behind him, leaving Kuroo to steam in his bed.

“Well, shit,” Kuroo says to himself. “How the fuck can I say no to that?"

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bows*
> 
> thanks as always for all your support guys! kudos/comments are much appreciated if you liked it! they're a good idea of how people are receiving my work :)
> 
> thanks, ilyasm <33
> 
> legendarysagehalfblood.tumblr.com


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